Monday, August 23
Our final day on the road, from Barstow to Santa Monica. We're road weary, but hardly worn out, though in the Mojave Desert the temps at 102 degrees again challenge our stamina. On I-15 east to I-10 east traffic swells in volume and aggressiveness, snapping my reflexes awake to urban riding conditions. Two hours later we debike at the home of my cousin Linda and husband Mark Rosman in Santa Monica. A week of rest, parties, friends, and relatives begins.
We have ridden 4046 miles across America in 20 days. Sturgis, the Badlands, Mt. Rushmore, Needles Canyon, Custer National Park, Devil's Tower, Rocky Mountain National Park, Glenwood Canyon, Red Mountain Pass, and Grand Canyon have entered our roster of sites seen and places visited on a motorcycle. There are more to come. Let's see...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
THE MOJAVE AND BEYOND
Saturday and Sunday, August 21-22
Onto the Mojave desert we rode Interstate 40 east, in the afternoon with the temps hitting 107. We pulled into a rest stop to escape from the slow roasting oven on the road. Couldn't drink enough water, find enough shade, or breathe enough cool air to feel refreshed. It was "hot, hot, hot!"
Met a trucker, leathery and toothless who wanted to talk Goldwings. Harold owned 3 bikes he said. Rides a lot with his sons. He cautioned me about the California highways with their rain-grooved roads. Steals some of the traction under your tires.
Embiked again into the afternoon sun toward Barstow. We arrive well-done, after 397 roasting miles, check into a hotel, and jump into the swimming pool. We relax in the sun and breeze, reflecting on the distance we have come, and the accomplishment. Tomorrow will be the last day of riding across America. Two up on a Goldwing, coast to coast.
Onto the Mojave desert we rode Interstate 40 east, in the afternoon with the temps hitting 107. We pulled into a rest stop to escape from the slow roasting oven on the road. Couldn't drink enough water, find enough shade, or breathe enough cool air to feel refreshed. It was "hot, hot, hot!"
Met a trucker, leathery and toothless who wanted to talk Goldwings. Harold owned 3 bikes he said. Rides a lot with his sons. He cautioned me about the California highways with their rain-grooved roads. Steals some of the traction under your tires.
Embiked again into the afternoon sun toward Barstow. We arrive well-done, after 397 roasting miles, check into a hotel, and jump into the swimming pool. We relax in the sun and breeze, reflecting on the distance we have come, and the accomplishment. Tomorrow will be the last day of riding across America. Two up on a Goldwing, coast to coast.
ITALIAN BIKERS IN THE DESERT
Sunday, August 22
After a restful night at a hotel outside Grand Canyon, we rode south on Rt 64, to pick up Interstate 40 going west. Hot weather, flat Arizona plains, and our sights were set on reaching Los Angeles. Looming ahead was the desert, and the certainty that temps would be three figures.
We took a short detour onto Route 66 to eat lunch at a classic diner in the town of Williams. Several groups of motorcyclists were there enjoying the food.
Gassing up in Kingman, home of Andy Devine, we observed a dozen motorcycles, a mixed batch of Harley's, BMWs and Goldwings, that all sported Italian flag and Route 66 decals. Enthusiasm for the travel, and for our white Goldwing promptly started parallel conversations in English and Italian.
Claudia told us that they live east of Rome, and her father, Testa, is a scooter dealer. The two of them were riding a shiny yellow Goldwing, and the others were riding bikes rented in Newark with San Francisco as their destination. We all marveled at the meeting, and extended invitations to come visit, then off they went.
We embiked south on Interstate 40, passing the Black Mesa, toward Needles, California and the Mojave Desert.
After a restful night at a hotel outside Grand Canyon, we rode south on Rt 64, to pick up Interstate 40 going west. Hot weather, flat Arizona plains, and our sights were set on reaching Los Angeles. Looming ahead was the desert, and the certainty that temps would be three figures.
Gassing up in Kingman, home of Andy Devine, we observed a dozen motorcycles, a mixed batch of Harley's, BMWs and Goldwings, that all sported Italian flag and Route 66 decals. Enthusiasm for the travel, and for our white Goldwing promptly started parallel conversations in English and Italian.
Claudia told us that they live east of Rome, and her father, Testa, is a scooter dealer. The two of them were riding a shiny yellow Goldwing, and the others were riding bikes rented in Newark with San Francisco as their destination. We all marveled at the meeting, and extended invitations to come visit, then off they went.
We embiked south on Interstate 40, passing the Black Mesa, toward Needles, California and the Mojave Desert.
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| Father and daughter crossing America on a yellow Goldwing |
GRAND CANYON
Saturday, August 21
After seeing the Four Corners yesterday, we embiked on US Rt 160 west. Simply cruising through the towns like Mexican Water, Kayenta, and Cow Springs, imparts a sense of a subsistence economy going strong in the desert. We rode by Red Mesa and passed up Monument Valley, the Navajo Tribal Park, though we were impressed by the Elephant Feet, a case of nature imitating life near Tonalea.
Passed the night in Tuba City, Arizona at a hotel on the Navajo Reservation. Saturday morning saw us on the road to Grand Canyon. Rt. 64 heading east off of US 89, runs right to the south rim, where we enjoyed an afternoon breathtaking at the canyon's edge.
Barbara and I were first-timers to Grand Canyon, both carrying around endless images from books, movies and TV. However familiar we were with pictures, seeing the spatial geology of GC prompted physical and emotional responses from us both. Looking 10 miles across in full sunlight, with my eyes focused at infinity called forth an exalted stimulation, a slight increase in heart rate, breathing the clean air deeply, followed by a pervasive sense of well being. Mountains, great heights and vast vistas have always generated these feelings for me, as does motorcycling. A physiologic and psychologic response to nature to space and motion that connects to the spiritual heights.
After seeing the Four Corners yesterday, we embiked on US Rt 160 west. Simply cruising through the towns like Mexican Water, Kayenta, and Cow Springs, imparts a sense of a subsistence economy going strong in the desert. We rode by Red Mesa and passed up Monument Valley, the Navajo Tribal Park, though we were impressed by the Elephant Feet, a case of nature imitating life near Tonalea.
Passed the night in Tuba City, Arizona at a hotel on the Navajo Reservation. Saturday morning saw us on the road to Grand Canyon. Rt. 64 heading east off of US 89, runs right to the south rim, where we enjoyed an afternoon breathtaking at the canyon's edge.
Barbara and I were first-timers to Grand Canyon, both carrying around endless images from books, movies and TV. However familiar we were with pictures, seeing the spatial geology of GC prompted physical and emotional responses from us both. Looking 10 miles across in full sunlight, with my eyes focused at infinity called forth an exalted stimulation, a slight increase in heart rate, breathing the clean air deeply, followed by a pervasive sense of well being. Mountains, great heights and vast vistas have always generated these feelings for me, as does motorcycling. A physiologic and psychologic response to nature to space and motion that connects to the spiritual heights.
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| Barbara enjoying the view at Grand Canyon |
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| The picture we hoped for, thanks to a Chinese tourist. |
Thursday, August 26, 2010
COLORADO PLAINS & FOUR CORNERS
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| On these plains, red predominates |
Friday, August 20th.
We bunked in Durango last night, after a rich dinner of "Seriously Texas Barbeque."
In the morning we embiked west taking US 160 through Cortez, and south to find the Four Corners, where Utah, Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico meet.
The countryside presents itself both flat and jagged. Long stretches of undulating plains, punctuated often by cliffs, promonitories, ridges and upthrust rocks of many sizes. A sense of age pervades this desert prompted by the geologic souvenirs of eons gone by.
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| Jagged intrusions are normal around here. |
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| A young acrobat crossing state lines. |
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| These boots don't lie. |
When people observed this young acrobat perform, they cleared the circle for this picture.
Barbara stepped up to the challenge of being in 4 states simultaneously. It's plain that the boots speak the truth.
MEETING BY THE YANKEE GIRL MINE
Thursday, August 19
These red mountains were full of silver once. Now a scenic turnout offers a view of the Yankee Girl mine site. These folks said hello and struck up a lively conversation about New York, Colorado, Goldwing motorcycles, riding horses and the vital beauty of these mountains.
These red mountains were full of silver once. Now a scenic turnout offers a view of the Yankee Girl mine site. These folks said hello and struck up a lively conversation about New York, Colorado, Goldwing motorcycles, riding horses and the vital beauty of these mountains.
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| Al Cannon from the Circle K Ranch with Ernie Hammer from Wild Horse. |
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| A Yankee Girl enjoying the view. |
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| Another horizon beckons with the song of the hills. |
RED MOUNTAIN PASS
Thursday, August 19
Riding south on US 550 we pass through the town of Ouray, one of many natural hot springs in Colorado. Between Ouray and Silverton we'll ascend to 11,000 feet in the Red Mountain Pass. Silver mines opened up this country, which may explain why this stretch of road is known as the "Million Dollar Highway." Riding closer to these mountains the shades of red change with the sunlight and the strata. Still more astonishing geology as every mile goes by.
Riding south on US 550 we pass through the town of Ouray, one of many natural hot springs in Colorado. Between Ouray and Silverton we'll ascend to 11,000 feet in the Red Mountain Pass. Silver mines opened up this country, which may explain why this stretch of road is known as the "Million Dollar Highway." Riding closer to these mountains the shades of red change with the sunlight and the strata. Still more astonishing geology as every mile goes by.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
13 MILES OF UNBELIEVABLE
Wednesday, August 18
We continued south out of Rocky Mt. National Park toward Glenwood Springs, Colo. Glenwood Canyon was new to me, and breathtaking in its walls and curves. A thrilling ride.
We continued south out of Rocky Mt. National Park toward Glenwood Springs, Colo. Glenwood Canyon was new to me, and breathtaking in its walls and curves. A thrilling ride.
RAINBOW CURVE OVERLOOK
Wednesday, August 18
We stopped for this view of Rainbow Curve. Later, after a rain shower, there was a major rainbow dipping into the valley.
We stopped for this view of Rainbow Curve. Later, after a rain shower, there was a major rainbow dipping into the valley.
ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK
Wednesday, August 18
Rocky Mountain National Park is our second major destination on this trip. Mountains are vast. The views are spectacular. Altitudes range from 7000 ft above sea level, to >12,000 feet. Roads wind around peaks, across saddles, overlook valleys, to rise above the tree line into high country tundra. Just after entering the park we stopped for pictures. Riding farther into the park we discovered that road construction was holding up traffic for significant amounts of time. Dozens of cars would line up waiting for the signal to ascend. With gorgeous weather we rode up the the Alpine Visitors Center and beyond, crossing the Continental Divide at Milner Pass.
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| On the way into the high country |
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| Approaching a road construction delay, in high tundra. |
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| While waiting in line, looking in a spotted mirror. |
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| East is east; west is west and water flows downhill. |
RIDING BIG THOMPSON CANYON
Saturday, August 21, 2010
THE DEVIL IS AN ARTIST
Saturday, August 14
I wonder why so many natural wonders were believed to be the work of the devil? Long before it was discovered by Steven Spielberg, I visited the Devil's Tower during the mountaineering summer of 1970. Then it seemed that the earth had an erection, an expression of the male principle in nature. Uncanny and challenging, I wanted to climb it, but didn't since the Grand Tetons beckoned.
Barb and I reached DT in the afternoon, and posed for pictures. First Barbara, who was impressed and excited to be there. Then me, having a second close encounter with the artist's work. Since the weather was changeable, we decided to hike the easy loop around the tower's base. In the space of an hour we went from sweating to dodging chilled raindrops. There were at least 8 climbing teams on the crevices that day. My telephoto picked out one pair, about half way to the top. As luck would have it, the battery in my camera died shortly thereafter, so, dear readers, you're spared my observations on rock climbing then and now. I did ask a couple of National Park Rangers if they had ever encountered any aliens on the premises. One replied that there were strange happenings at night. Glad know somebody's keeping watch, I told him.
Satisfied that we had indeed seen one of America's natural wonders, and eager to reach Estes Park Colorado, we embiked again and rode off to the south, stopping for the night in the town of Gillette, Wyoming.
I wonder why so many natural wonders were believed to be the work of the devil? Long before it was discovered by Steven Spielberg, I visited the Devil's Tower during the mountaineering summer of 1970. Then it seemed that the earth had an erection, an expression of the male principle in nature. Uncanny and challenging, I wanted to climb it, but didn't since the Grand Tetons beckoned.
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| Barbara after her first look at the Devil's handiwork |
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| My second close encounter |
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| Over 800 feet high from base to top |
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| A pair of climbers doing Yosemite-style crack climbing in the heat |
Satisfied that we had indeed seen one of America's natural wonders, and eager to reach Estes Park Colorado, we embiked again and rode off to the south, stopping for the night in the town of Gillette, Wyoming.
ALADDIN WYOMING
Saturday, August 14
Rode out of Rapid City and said goodbye to Sturgis. On Rt 34 West, we stopped for lunch in a little crossroads called Aladdin. In a tiny cafe we enjoyed the best hamburgers ever, and made the acquaintance of two memorable people. First is Ryan Prizio, a man who is riding a bicycle from coast to coast, and blogging the trip at www.ryanprizio.com. An impressive effort. My longest bicycle ride, back in the late '60s, was ~700 miles from NY to Cincinnati. I know what it's like, and wish him the best of luck on his journey.
The next guy was a biker named Marvin, who, over lunch, told more jokes per minute than anyone I've ever met. He's a member of the Christian Motorcyclists Association, and is spreading the word wherever he rides. Great to meet you Marvin!
Rode out of Rapid City and said goodbye to Sturgis. On Rt 34 West, we stopped for lunch in a little crossroads called Aladdin. In a tiny cafe we enjoyed the best hamburgers ever, and made the acquaintance of two memorable people. First is Ryan Prizio, a man who is riding a bicycle from coast to coast, and blogging the trip at www.ryanprizio.com. An impressive effort. My longest bicycle ride, back in the late '60s, was ~700 miles from NY to Cincinnati. I know what it's like, and wish him the best of luck on his journey.
The next guy was a biker named Marvin, who, over lunch, told more jokes per minute than anyone I've ever met. He's a member of the Christian Motorcyclists Association, and is spreading the word wherever he rides. Great to meet you Marvin!
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| Shaking hands with Marvin on the way to Devil's Tower |
Thursday, August 19, 2010
CRAZY HORSE MEMORIAL
Friday August 13
The memorial to Crazy Horse, the legendary Lakota Chief who never surrendered, inspires a poignant awe. Korczak Ziolkowski, a Polish sculptor who assisted Glutzon Borglum on Mt. Rushmore, was invited by Indian chieftains to create a monument to heroes of the "red men." Monumental it is, dwarfing Mt. Rushmore, and more than 50 years since it's beginning, the sculpture remains less than half finished. Korczak was inspired by the words of Crazy Horse, who when asked where his lands were now replied, "My lands are where my dead lie buried." Very moving. Very inspiring. Very beautiful in both concept and execution.
The memorial to Crazy Horse, the legendary Lakota Chief who never surrendered, inspires a poignant awe. Korczak Ziolkowski, a Polish sculptor who assisted Glutzon Borglum on Mt. Rushmore, was invited by Indian chieftains to create a monument to heroes of the "red men." Monumental it is, dwarfing Mt. Rushmore, and more than 50 years since it's beginning, the sculpture remains less than half finished. Korczak was inspired by the words of Crazy Horse, who when asked where his lands were now replied, "My lands are where my dead lie buried." Very moving. Very inspiring. Very beautiful in both concept and execution.
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| After 50 years, only the face has been finished |
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| Front view of the face at 1/ 34th scale |
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| Outline of the finished work superimposed on the mountain |
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| Full model in plaster with the work in progress in the distance |
HISTORIC DEADWOOD
Friday, August 13
The town of Deadwood South Dakota emerged practically overnight following the discovery of gold there in the 1870s. Tradesmen followed the gold miners giving rise to a boom town famed for gambling, girls and gunfighting. Devotees of the Wild West esteem Deadwood as the town where Wild Bill Hickok was killed, though local lore insists he was assassinated. We passed a couple of colorful hours touring the main street, restored as a perfect tourist attraction, replete with saloons, slot machines, and souvenirs. As Americana it's notable that the politics of purity has somehow overlooked Deadwood, where the elementary school is situated just down the street from the notorious brothels and gambling dens.
The town of Deadwood South Dakota emerged practically overnight following the discovery of gold there in the 1870s. Tradesmen followed the gold miners giving rise to a boom town famed for gambling, girls and gunfighting. Devotees of the Wild West esteem Deadwood as the town where Wild Bill Hickok was killed, though local lore insists he was assassinated. We passed a couple of colorful hours touring the main street, restored as a perfect tourist attraction, replete with saloons, slot machines, and souvenirs. As Americana it's notable that the politics of purity has somehow overlooked Deadwood, where the elementary school is situated just down the street from the notorious brothels and gambling dens.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
NEEDLES CANYON
Wednesday, August 11
A popular canyon run near Rapid City, SD is Needles, so named for its unique rock formations. The road to Needles takes you through several tunnels carved through mountain walls of rock. It's a thrilling ride for the very sharp hairpin curves and the views.
A popular canyon run near Rapid City, SD is Needles, so named for its unique rock formations. The road to Needles takes you through several tunnels carved through mountain walls of rock. It's a thrilling ride for the very sharp hairpin curves and the views.
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| Approaching a tunnel |
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| Entering a tunnel |
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| The rock formations called "Needles" |
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| The intrepid photographer takes a break after a hairpin curve |
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| Waving after the hairpin curve |
MT. RUSHMORE
Wednesday, August 11
Mt. Rushmore is just a brief ride from Rapid City, SD, where we are staying during Sturgis. It's a tourist favorite and despite the picture postcard connotations, a startling sight to see. The monument was a WPA project, carved from 1928-1934. Several crusty western bikers referred to it as "big government art." I did not ask what their families were doing during the depression.
A well designed museum presents Glutzon Borglum's models, and a fine series of sequential photographs of the mountain being carved.
Though most people are familiar with the monument, there are unusual angles of observation available when up close. I only regret not finding a good angle on Jefferson's nose.
Mt. Rushmore is just a brief ride from Rapid City, SD, where we are staying during Sturgis. It's a tourist favorite and despite the picture postcard connotations, a startling sight to see. The monument was a WPA project, carved from 1928-1934. Several crusty western bikers referred to it as "big government art." I did not ask what their families were doing during the depression.
Though most people are familiar with the monument, there are unusual angles of observation available when up close. I only regret not finding a good angle on Jefferson's nose.
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| George Washington seen from a crevice |
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| Abe Lincoln from beneath his beard |
STURGIS
Tuesday, August 10
At last we're in Sturgis, on a blistering 95 degree Tuesday morning. The town jumps, bikes are everywhere, and the characters are out in force. These photos need no explanation. The whole town is one big party for a week. Bought our souvenirs and hit the road.
At last we're in Sturgis, on a blistering 95 degree Tuesday morning. The town jumps, bikes are everywhere, and the characters are out in force. These photos need no explanation. The whole town is one big party for a week. Bought our souvenirs and hit the road.
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| Sturgis live, noisy and fun |
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| The bride on the ride |
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| What was the joke about horney bikers? |
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| No, and she couldn't explain it either |
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| A B-1 Bomber flyover. The ground shook and the Harleys went mute. |
RIDING THE BADLANDS
Barbara's camera work. She's becoming quite good at riding videos. The curly loop in the upper right is due to a camera defect. Subsequently contacted Canon, and swapped out the defective camera for a new one. Video files are huge and require long upload times. We have so many beautiful video clips it would require days to upload them all. I'll have to edit them into a coherent movie in the future, but for now, no more movie posts. Just pictures.
BORN UNDER A BAD SIGN
Monday, August 9th. Zooming west on I-90 from Mitchell, SD to Rapid City. We stop at Murdo for lunch, desparate for an hour of air-conditioned relief from the heat. All around us are bareheaded, bare-armed Harley riders who glow passionate shades of pink and red, none without a case of sunburn. A slim woman sits on the concrete stoop of the diner, holding her bandanaed head and moaning, "I can't take this. I want to be indoors!" The only visible sign that someone understands the danger. It occurs to me that no 19th century cowboy would have crossed these rolling prairies without sun protection, including a hat and bandana. Somehow Harley riders believe that the brand confers immunity from the lesser dangers of the road, or that redliness is next to manliness.
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| Badlands in the distance |
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